


Blood Like Honey

by Barkour



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cannibalism, F/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The empress condescends to speak with her helmsman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Like Honey

The empress descends to the bridge. The lights have burned out; the way is dark. She knows the path before her. Dust swirls before her; her toes disturb its rest. In the corner a skull leers.

The doors open to her, as all things open to her. The bridge is cold with starlight. The bridge is pale with starlight. She, raised in deep, dark waters, had never thought she would think such light so beautiful, but oh, how it glimmered in the eyes of her consort; how it shines, still.

"Helmsman," says the empress. "What is our speed?"

He hangs from the mass of wires, the mess of cords. His lips part. His tongue lolls. He says, "Forty-three elign." Blood drips down his cheek.

The empress condescends to approach this lowest of creatures. She condescends to touch his wet cheek. His blood is warm and yellow, yellow as a dying star. It oozes from his empty eye sockets. She strokes his cheek with her thumb. His blood smears like honey beneath a knife.

"Helmsman," says the empress. "What is our course?"

"En route to unknown sector from Alternia at forty-three elign."

The starlight limns his sockets; the starlight fills them. How beautiful his eyes, when she first saw him laid out naked upon the lab table, wires wound about him. The helmsman's empress licks his blood from her fingers. Her tongue is heavy with the tang of him.

Her long tongue flicks out. It is a disgrace, that a thing of such low blood should taste so sweet. She fills the left socket with her tongue.

"Helmsman," says the empress. "Who do you serve?"

He hangs from the cords and the wires, the technorganic growth of this, her imperial flagship. His shoulder bones peek white through the mess. The skin of his face is drawn thin. His dry lips part. His teeth are dull. The length of his tongue, too thick for his mouth, flashes. Does he lean into her touch?

"I serve the Imperial Condesce," he says.

The tip of his fat tongue catches between his teeth. The soft consonants slur. His blood is honey in her mouth. She strokes his cheek again and leans forward. So gently, she kisses his bloodied mouth. He does not withdraw now. He has learned to love her. She sucks on his swollen tongue and then she bites it off. Yellow blood squirts hot against her teeth, her lips, her chin. It patters wetly against her throat.

The empress closes her eyes. For a moment she imagines she is in the sea again, Gl'bgloyb undulating about her in waters so black no light could ever touch her. The helmsman is there, too, prostrate before her. She tastes him in her mouth. She swallows his tongue and thinks it a fish for how it wriggles. The empress condescends to kiss him again, so softly.

Blood spills from his lips, filthy yellow blood. It paints her lips; it fills her mouth. She swallows again, languorous. The empress sets her long fingers on his bony breast. The musculature, exposed, is dry and thin. His throat twitches. He chokes.

She licks the blood from his mouth. She licks the blood from his lips.

"Such loyalty in one so low of blood is to be commended."

He says nothing. There is nothing he can say. She caresses him with her mass of tentacles; she engulfs him in her mane. The fine, sensory tentacles slither into his wettened orifices. The thicker, grasping limbs encircle his tapering torso. She pulls him to her.

"In recognition of your devotion," says the empress, "I shall grant you another extension."

He moans, then. Yellow ichor pools between his lips. It is with great kindness that the empress pets his face. It is with such love that she kisses first the right socket then the left. His eyelids drop. He shudders. The empress winds her tentacles about him, so tightly no light would dare brush his skin, his muscles, his white, white bones.

Skin shivers. His muscles tighten. His eyelids round; they rise. She licks his golden eye.

"There," she whispers. "Isn't that better?"

"Yes, empress," says the helmsman.


End file.
